Hell's City
by wilfre63
Summary: "Heya, Brucie! It's good to see you, ya know. We haven't seen each other in AGES!" Jeremiah Valeska has blown the bridges into the sky, now Gotham has become a breeding ground for crime. The city's gangs have taken over, the GCPD hanging on to what they have, but Gotham's criminal scum are slowly beginning to take over... (Set in season 5 where Jerome is still alive, rated T)
1. City in Rubble

ONE

City in Rubble

For once in many years, the streets of Gotham were dead. Only the sound of gunshots in the distance could be heard. No birds were in the smoke-filled sky, only the tips of flames tickling the grey clouds from the rooftops.

The bridges onto the island had been destroyed; only a few wires dangling carelessly in the wind, sparking brightly in they whiped themselves through the air. Rubble was strewn into the river below, scattered amongst cars and more debris from the road. Fires had been started by the gangs that had risen from the very bowels of Gotham, taking a chunk of the city. For they knew that it was to be fought for, and soon enough the city would turn into a battleground.

Firefly, Riddler, Penguin, Freeze, Tetch, Crane, Jerome... they were all there. Bruce Wayne stood on the roof top next to Jim Gordon, knowing that somewhere, in that living Hell he had called his home for so many years, Jeremiah Valeska was hiding. And he wasn't going to wait for him to emerge from the dark - no, Bruce was going to find that man before Gotham went up in a mushroom cloud. He wanted to put an end to the corruption more than ever.

"Bruce..." called a voice from beside him. He looked up to see Jim staring at him with pale eyes. "There's still time to leave Gotham, you know. Before it gets out of hand."

"No, I have to stay."

"Take my word for it... you-"

" _No_!" Bruce snapped bitterly. "Ra's al Ghul said it was my calling! I can't leave Gotham knowing Jeremiah is still out there... I have to find him!" he spun around and began to march away.

"Bruce!" Jim yelled after him. "Stop, you have no idea who you're dealing with..."

"I know exactly who I'm dealing with."

"This guy, he isn't like Jerome." he sighed, catching up to Bruce. "He actually has a reason... Jeremiah doesn't just want the last laugh, he want to burn Gotham to the ground, and whatsmore, he wants to kill both of us."

"That doesn't matter anymore, Jim," he growled. "I am going to find Jeremiah Valeska."


	2. The Search

TWO

The Search

Bruce woke up at the sound of a gunshot. His body was slumped against a brick wall which appeared to be in an alley way. With a look of pure exhaustion upon his face, he rose for the glass-covered ground gently. Bruce examined himself briefly: first his hands, which were blistered and painted with blood. Then his clothes: a ripped cashmere suit, the sleeves ripped and the tie sagging a little. He limped over to a newly formed puddle caused by the building rain clouds and stared into it.

Bruce's eyes were sunken and heavy, a long scratch stretching the length of his face. His lip was swollen, blood spattered on his upper lip. He sighed slowly, recalling the events of the previous night. He had been looking for Jeremiah - but seemed to have run into a little trouble along the way. Crossing into Barbra Kean's territory was a mistake.

 _Don't let this drag you down, Bruce,_ he thought as rain began to fall from the sky violently, _Jeremiah is still out there, and whatsmore, so is Jerome. With those psychos on the loose Gotham will turn into a big top circus tent sooner than I can count to ten..._

His mouth stretched into an imperfect lineas his head lifted up to the sky, _if only... if only Dad was still here, none of this would have ever happened. Jerome would be locked away in Arkham, and Jeremiah would never have been sprayed with that fear gas._

Bruce shook his head and scowled. "No, there's nothing I can do now. Except continue with what he dreamed of Gotham becoming." he stared ahead. "And I can start by finding Jeremiah Valeska."

Meanwhile, somewhere to in the North of Gotham, Jerome Valeska had come out of hiding. The docks were close, the acrid scent of the river was in the air. He walked out of the Shadows and stood in the rain, head in the air and breathing in the damp air, arms stretched out with gloved hands.

Jerome let out maniacal laugh as the rain followed the lines of his scars before falling onto the floor. " _Ahaha...!_ " he wiped the tears from his eyes and interlocked his hands behind his back. "Jeremiah, you really do crack me up sometimes... blowing up the bridges and whatnot, sounds like something I'd do! Well, at least I know that fear stuff works, I'll have to make Crane cook up a new batch..."

With a grin, he set off in the centre of the road, leaping into the oily rain water collecting in potholes.

There was a loud shattering sound from above. Bruce's head shot to the source, finding a bullet hole had punctured a window on the second floor of a building. Gripping the pistol from the inside of his jacket, he leapt to one side and listened.

Voices were muffled inside, but it sounded like two middle-aged men.

 _"Get to it, Cr-"_

 _"Wh... alright, alright...! I'll fix up another batch."_

Bruce leaned closer to an open door beside him, trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. The two of them sounded quite familiar...

 _"...but I'll need time. Without those scientists, the production of fear gas will be much slower than preferred."_

 _"I don't have time, Crane!"_ the voice snapped. _"I need this batch ready by tomorrow night, other wise there'll be a hole in your skull the size of ya fist."_

Bruce pulled himself to the wall suddenly as the owners of the voices stepped out onto the street. Jerome Valeska spun around and wagged a finger at Jonathan Crane.

"I better be able ta rely on you, Scarecrow," he smiled, his scars creasing. "I got big plans for this stuff, big plans..."

He patted a barrel Jonathan had wheeled outside and turned in the opposite direction. Bruce flinched as the pistol fell from his hand and onto the floor. Jerome's eyes darted around as he pulled a scalpel from the inner pocket of his coat. He took one step to the side and crept along the perimeter of the building, his hand trailing the wall. Stopping suddenly at the side of the alley where Bruce was hiding, Jerome sighed through smiling lips.

He shook his head. "Probably a rat, this city's full of rats... human and animal." Jerome gave Crane a high-pitched giggle before spinning around and walking away from the scene. "Don't forget, tomorrow night!"

Bruce let out a strangled breath, placing his pistol back where it belonged. _That was close,_ he thought as Crane pushed the barrel around a corner.

"Tomorrow night, tomorrow night, tomorrow night..." Crane chanted, lifting the barrel up a step into the house next door.

Fiddling with the mobile phone he took from his pocket, Bruce dialed a number and put it to his ear.

 _"Hello...? Bruce, is that you?"_ said a voice from the other line.

"Jim! Jim, you gotta listen to me... it's Jerome, he's-"

 _"Slow down, I can't hear you as it is, something is messing with the signal..."_

He put his hand on the wall next to him. "It's Jerome, he's working with Scarecrow to produce more of that fear gas. I think it's the same stuff that he sent to Jeremiah..." Bruce sighed. "I don't know how much time we have until he uses it, but Crane has to make sure the batch is ready by tomorrow night."

 _Are you sure about this, Bruce?"_ Jim asked.

"Jim, I'm at the same house Crane is brewing this stuff in. I just saw him and Jerome talking together! Somethings going on, and if we don't stop it who knows what they'll do!"

 _"Alright, where exactly are you, Bruce? I'm coming to get you..."_

"I'm at 274, Barber Street in the Narrows..." Bruce replied. "But be careful, Jim, Jerome is out there somewhere and the chances are you'll run into him..."

 _"Don't worry about me, I have Harvey. Besides, if we do run into that clown I won't miss a second time..."_

The sound of a gun loading crackled through the speaker before Jim hung up.

 **Author's Note:**

I hope you're enjoying reading so far! Sorry about the shortness of the chapters (I usually write longer ones in my other fics), but I hope it's enough to keep you satisfied until the next part. I'd love to see some comments appearing over the next few chapters, it would be appreciated, but don't feel pressured into doing so :)

Look out for new chapters, and, if you haven't already, follow me so you can get alerted of any updates! :)


	3. Narrow Escape

THREE

Narrow Escape

Jim's hands flexed on the steering wheel of his car. The black BMW took a sharp corner to avoid the long line of stalled out and abandoned cars ahead, a flock of pigeons flying overhead in the misty sky. He sighed reluctantly as he saw the sign above him: swaying in the rough air. It read:

 _WELCOME TO THE NARROWS_

 _PLEASE DRIVE SAFELY._

"Y'all right there, Jim?" Harvey raised a suggestive eyebrow, seeing the police officer briefly glance in the wind mirror at him. "You look a little tense."

Jim nodded slightly, his eyes fixed to the grey road. "Yeah..."

"D'you want me to drive for a bit?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Sure?"

He hit his hands against the steering wheel, the car squealing on the tarmac. "Jim!"

Harvey jumped and the silence took hold again. The sound of the wheels echoed through the empty streets of Gotham, birds taking off in all directions at the sight of a moving object on the street below. The sky was dark, despite it being midday. Smoke from the bridges rose into the air lazily, gripping hold of the telephone wires and twisting around buildings. The white clouds were now choked with corruption, turning a sickly grey.

So this is what an abandond city was like. Harvey had seen it many times on the TV, but never in real life. Gotham was, as far as he could tell, deathly silent. This came across as rather peculiar to him as the city had only ever been bustling with movement and life, now it was hushed. Only the sound of the car broke the line between oblivion and reality. Harvey suddenly remembered what had been said, _"Soon enough this city will turn into a war zone..."_. It was like the quiet before the storm...

He opened his mouth to speak, but was suddenly broken off by Jim.

"Shh!" Gordon snapped, wagging an irritated finger sharply. "No, I don't want to hear it, Harvey."

Harvey sighed. "I... I'm sorry, Jim. I was just wondering what's wrong."

"Ahh..." Jim shook his head, his eyes drooping sadly. "It's just... Bruce. I'm worried about him, Harvey, he's just a kid and he's out in Gotham chasing a madman -- two actually... Whatsmore, Bruce is the son of a multi-millionaire, there's so much crime out there that could sweep him away as quickly as it swept away Thomas and Martha." he sighed. "Harvey, if that kid... you know... Gotham will sink even further into Hell."

The rest of the journey was silent until the car clunked to a halt beside an old building. As the two men stepped onto the street they noticed the acrid smell and the whirling smoke from the chimney of the house.

Harvey wafted his hand in front of his nose in attempt to rid the scent. "Ugh, what is that...?"

"Take a wild guess..." Jim pointed to the barrels at the doorstep.

Drawing his gun, Harvey approached the rusted find. He shifted the lid onto the floor with the tip of his gun to find a thin plastic sheet covering the top. "The Hell...?" he narrowed his eyes, prodding a hole into the plastic. Mist drifted out casually, winding around his figure.

"Harvey, get back!" Jim dragged back his partner away, pressing the fabric of his jacket to his face in the prosecss.

From a short distance, they watched the grey-brown mist disappear into the harsh clouds above. Jim shook his head and dusted down his jacket.

"Fear gas... looks like Bruce was telling the truth."

"Well," Harvey double checked that his gun was loaded. "If those barrels are just lying around it means Crane is out-and-about. He shouldn't be gone long... not with them in plain sight."

"We'd better hurry up and find Bruce." Jim coughed as the smoke from the chimneys difted to street level.

As the two officers milled about the exterior of Crane's building, Bruce was hiding away in the alleyway, his body pressed up against the rubbish piled up against the walls. He had seen Crane walk past, and knew he would have to hide away quickly.

It was when the world fell silent that he heard his name called from around the corner. He stood up.

"Jim...?" he called out. "Is that you?"

"Bruce!"

As the detective came into view Bruce surged forward, skidding to a halt.

"Bruce, are you alright?"

He nodded. "I'm fine..."

"And what of Crane?"

"I have no idea..." Bruce sighed, turning to point at the door at the end of the building. "He disappeared through that door, I guess he's making another batch for Jerome."

"Come on, we should get out of here before that guy returns..."

Bruce's eyes suddenly widened, his jaw dropping in the silence. "...Jim..."

He raised an eyebrow. "What...?"

There was a loud 'clunk' causing Jim to spin around, his face suddenly met by raggy cloth mask. Crane raised an arm and smiled beneath the cover of the mask.

"Beware of the fear... it may just consume you."

Fear gas escaped the confinement of his gloves, and somewhere in that small time frame Jim was thrown to the right, allowing Bruce to accept the full force of the hallucinogenic gas. He fell to the floor, clutching his head as it began to throb. His chest was suddenly heavy with the weight of his heart and organs, he fell onto his knees and roled backwards, letting his body fall helplessly to the cold floor.

Bruce could hear the shouting around him, somewhere in the blur another man came into view and fired what seemed to be a silver ring in the direction of Crane. There was a muffled cry from above him as a splatter of black liquid drenched his clothes. He cried out, but no noise could be heard. Bruce's insides felt as if they were collapsing in on themselves, and instantaneously an entire colony of tiny grey creatures errupted from inside him, their wings convulsing against the sky. Then his vision clouded over...

Three hours later his eyes flicked open. Bruce stared above him at the peeling ceiling. His vision swayed as he rose up and dangled his legs over the side of the seat. He was in the back of a car.

Two faces turned to see him, one Harvey and the other Jim. "Bruce, thank God..." Gordon sighed with relief. "Looks like Crane didn't get you with the special batch of fear gas after all..."

Bruce coughed, looking down at his raggy clothes. They were stained with blood. "Where am I...?"

"Don't worry, we're on our way back to the station. We've had to stop to refuel, but thankfully Crane was too wounded to follow us."

"But," Harvey added. "It won't be long before Jerome hears about this, and he'll be after us. No question about it, without Crane we're pretty sure whatever he's planning won't work..."

"Hm..." Bruce looked out of the window at the buildings passing by. It was so quiet out there. Who knew there could be a war at stake?

 **Author's Note:**

Hi again, sorry about the lack of chapters lately. Fanfiction hasn't really been on my mind lately, but I promise I will right more soon.

I tried to make this chapter a little longer xd.


	4. Surprise!

FOUR

Surprise!

He clutched his side and staggered down the winding alleyways of Gotham City, blood seeping onto his rags. His breathing was rough and heavy, echoing across the walls as his body slumped against the ground. A mask fell from his face as the world began to spin with bright and dark colours all at once, reality fading into the distance.

He closed his eyes before running a hand through his brown hair. Sounds became muffled, but it was quite obvious that footsteps were advancing on him.

"Hm..."

"...I wonder."

Some time later, a new patient had arrived at Hugo Strange's hideout in the Narrows...

In the meantime, Bruce was staring out of the window in the back of Jim's car. The buildings were flashing past his eyes in a blur of grey and black. He sighed, due to the debris from the bridges, the trio had to take the long way around to get back to the GCPD building.

"You okay back there, Bruce?" Harvey called, looking into the mirror at the boy's pale face.

"Yeah, I guess so." Bruce continued to stare through the scratched window. "All that's happed... it's a little difficult to digest, to be honest. With the Valeska's out there, along with the rest, Gotham's gonna-"

The BMW screeched to a halt. Bruce rocked forward, his hands shooting out to grab at the driver's seat.

"What?" he asked. "What is it, Jim? Wait..." he narrowes his eyes at the figure that came limping toward the car.

Jim rolled the window down, knowing that he wasn't a threat. "Can I help you? Gotham was evacuated, why are you still here...?"

The man had a long grey beard with a patchwork jacket slung over his shoulders. What was left of his hair was singed and tipped with black. "You..." he wheezed, his breath smelling like cigarette smoke. "...You shouldn't be here, Commissioner Gordon. The Valeska fellow,"

Bruce's ears perked up.

"He's claimed the GCPD building..."

"What...?" Jim's heart sank.

Harvey shook his head. "How's that possible? Jerome can't, what's remaining of the force is still there."

"Come with us," Gordon gestured to the back seat. "We'll get you some place safe, Gotham isn't safe now."

The man shook his head and backed up quickly. "Oh, no no no no no... I must care for my family."

And with that he disappeared through the door of an abandond sweet shop.

"Alright then..." Harvey loaded his gun. "I guess we should evict this clown, hm?"

Jim pressed his foot down on the peddle, the car surging forward. The rubble from a few houses was up ahead, a clear landmark for the building ahead that bruised the skyline. But as they pulled up, the three men got a good look at what it had become...

"Jesus..." Harvey swore. "Makes you think that guys been in there for months."

The GCPD building was stood against the stark grey sky, skeletal trees grabbing at the brickwork. Bruce approached cautiously.

"Bruce," Jim handed him a Glock 19 9mm Compact Semi Automaticpistol from the glove compartment, it's weight cold in his hands. "You'll need this, you know what Valeska is like."

He nodded and continued, looking up.

The bricks were now rather messily painted green, pink and blue, the words ' _Jerome was here!_ ' splattered across the doors and windows. Silhouettes drifted past above him as Harvey and Jim appeared, Harvey pressing a button on his radio.

"This is Bullock, do you read?"

There was static from the other side.

"I repeat: this is Bullock, do you read?"

After a short pause, the radio crackled into life. " _Copy that, loud and clear, Harvey._ _This is Officer Smith._ "

He looked up, the three taking cover to the side of the building, just in case any of Jerome's punks opened fire.

"Smith, where the heck are you?!" Harvey scowled. "Have you seen what's happened to the GCPD building?"

" _Yes... There's not much we can do. Valeska closed in on us, taking several officers hostage. Myself and a hand full of others managed to escape to a safe distance..._ "

"Right... I want you and whoever is left back down here ASAP. We've got a psycho to catch."

With that final sentence, Harvey tucked his radio back into his pocket. "Now what?"

"Well," Bruce said, examining his weapon carefully. "We can't just wait around for the others to find us, we've gotta get in there, find Jerome and try to flush him out."

"It's too dangerous," Jim shook his head. "As soon as we step through that door we'll be shot at."

"Maybe we can go round the back?"

"No, he'll be expecting us. It's best just to wait for the others to get here."

"Even with the other officers we'll still be vulnerable." Bruce explained. "If the three of us go in and rid as many of Jerome's punks as we can, we can lead him out and let the GCPD get him."

He sighed, knowing he could not win this argument between the Wayne boy. "Alright, it's worth a shot. But how are we getting in? The punks will be waiting at the entrances."

"Not _all_ of them..." Harvey said. "There's three entrances in the GCPD building: front, back and the one underneath."

"Underneath?"

"Every major building in Gotham has a door leading into the sewers."

Bruce held out a pale hand and shook his head. "Wait, wait, wait... the sewers...? Seriously?"

Harvey began to lead them away. "You want to get to Jerome, right? This is the only way in without getting killed... c'mon, the sooner we get there the better."

*

The creak of a door opening echoed throught the building. Waylon Jones' yellow eyes snapped open, his pointed teeth suddenly joining like prison bars. He lifted his scaled body out of the water, placing his feet onto the cold tiles one after the other. After the bridges were destroyed, he had taken up the rubbled remains of an indoor swimming pool. The roof had collapsed in, letting the new moonlight settle on the green water.

Waylon moved his head round, scanning the shadows for movement. He growled deeply as his pupils fell onto the vague outline of a man standing against the wall.

"Who are you...?" Waylon called out, his voice low and focused.

"My name is not important," he stepped forward from the darkness, revealing his dark suit. The man's face was not visable. "But I believe you are Waylon Jones, correct?"

"What's it to you?"

There was a dull laugh proceeding from the figure. "I have a feeling you and I could be great friends," he said, completely ignoring his comment. "Or great, enemies... either way, it all falls down to whether you'll cooperate." there was a pause while the man waited for the message to sink in. "Oh, and by the way... I have a nasty habit of disposing of my enemies."

"I'm listenin',"

A stream of moonlight fell from the gap in the roof, splashing out across the Strange's face. A smile became visable, twisting out his pale lips.

"Bruce Wayne," he said. "I need him; dead or alive, it doesn't strictly matter anymore. That boy is the only thing that stands between me and what I see of Gotham's bleak future." a gunshot layered out the silence. "So, what do you say, Waylon?"

Waylon shifted nervously, hiding his emotions behind his scaly face. "Hmm... so, all you want me to do is get the Wayne kid?"

The man nodded.

"...what do I get in return?"

"Dead: a pile of cash. Alive: two piles of cash..."

He growled. "Don't believe that. And what if I just kill you right here and now...?"

Half a douzen guns clicked above Waylon, causing him to flinch.

"I highly discourage you to do so..." his mouth flipped into a frown. "That would be a silly move."

Eyes scanning the roof sharply, Waylon grunted. "Deal."

"Excellent!" he clapped his hands together. "Spread the word, I need Bruce Wayne dealt with..."

As the man spun into the opposite direction, he caught sight of purple fabric. Footsteps exited the building, the sound of a door slamming shut echoing though the building. Waylon sighed in the darkness.


	5. Meet Up Beat Up

**Author's Note:**

Thank's for the comments! I'm just letting you know that there is implied bad language in parts of Hell's City -- but none of it will actually be said. Also, look out for mild gore ; )

CHAPTER 5

Meet Up Beat Up

"...Ugh..." Bruce cringed as he walked through the sewers. The ground was sticky with lichen and mold, plants growing from cracks in the walls. Tree roots had errupted through the ceiling, reaching out like a fan. "This place stinks."

"What do you expect?" Harvey said in front of them, shining a torch into the darkness. "It ain't gonna smell like purfume, that's for sure."

Bruce said nothing more, his eyes trying not to focus on the liquid that was flowing from the grates beside him. Their footsteps bounced from the curved walls, travelling into the seemingly endless void ahead.

"How much further, Harvey?" Jim called out from behind.

"Shouldn't be much longer now," he answered, pointing a finger out in front of him. "It's through there."

As the door loomed up above them, Harvey produced a silver key and used it to unlock the bolts attached to it. It creaked inward, the wood bowing slightly. They stepped inside, closing the door behind them. A torchlit staircase winded up, the stone dripping with water droplets that had collected over the years.

"Come on," he lead them on until they reached yet another heavy door. "Right, on the other side of the door is the top of the main corridor in the basement. I'm pretty sure some of Jerome's punks will be knocking round but they won't be here."

"How do you know?" Bruce asked.

" 'Cause I can see the other side..." Harvey had his head pressed up against the wall, his left eye peeking though a crack. "Coast's clear, let's go before we get caught."

He opened the door and, dragging Bruce behind him, he and Jim scurried into the corridor. The door closed behind them, showing nothing more that a bookcase behind. The trio hid just across the way so they could stay out of sight.

Jim shook his head. "I can't believe I never found that door..."

"We need to get upstairs," Bruce cut in. "From there we can get to Jerome and hopefully flush him out of the building."

"Okay, let's get going. We don't know how much time we have..." Jim nodded, leading them through the corridors. They crept through the lower building, avoiding the patrolling men that marched from room to room.

They suddenly clung to the wall, drawing their weapons at the sight of two punks walking together.

"Hm," a punk with red hair and piercings shook his head. "I heard the Valeska's are working together."

"Where d'you get that from?" a punk with green hair said with a laugh. "I was told they were planning to kill each other."

The redhead suddenly stopped. "Hey... you hear that?"

"Yeah," he laughed. "It's the sound of you chatting--" he drew his gun. "Wait, I hear it... I think it's coming from over there."

The green haired punk began to advance on the trio's hiding spot, Jim suddenly darting out and firing his pistol. There was a brief thud as his target fell to the floor.

"Huh...?" the redhead spun around, his eyes staring for a moment before marching past. "Who's there?! You betta come out or I'm gonna kill ya..."

"You'll kill us anyway." Harvey fired two bullets, the punk dropping. He reloaded his gun. "Let's get out of here..."

They made a move up to the ground floor, taking a flight of steps that lead into the open. Around the corner was a large group of Jerome's bodyguards. Bruce narrowed his eyes.

"How are we gonna get past them?" he whispered.

"How else...?" Harvey ran forward, Jim and Bruce following cautiously as the guards noticed them.

"Hey!"

They had a target for each of them. Jim tackled the largest: a man carrying a heavy-duty mallet in his left hand, while Harvey took on someone who appeared to only use his bare hands to fight. Bruce ducked as a knife flew over his head, burying itself into the wood of a table. It had been launched from a rather scrawny-looking punk with a thin body. His black hair was shaved on one side messily, sticking up with some parts longer than the others.

"Hey kid," his voice was high and raspy. "I heard your name is Bruce, well I'm Nightmare... It's nice to meet you."

"Oh, really..." Bruce growled, pulling the pistol put in front of him. "You don't seem much of a nightmare."

There was a blur as Nightmare pounced, throwing him to the ground. He had a second knife pointed to his temple. "Look's can be deceiving..." he cooed.

Nightmare let out a strangled gasped as Harvey's opponent toppled over him. "Bah," he hissed from under the guard's body. "Gerroff me."

The punk lifted himself up and, noticing the man was deceased, he gave Bruce a jagged smile.

Meanwhile, Harvey had joined Jim's fight. The mallet hit the ground, dust and bits of concrete flying into the air as the gaurd swung it back over his shoulder.

"Thank's, Harvey." Jim said. "I could use some help over here..."

"I figured." Harvey shot out the answer as they dodged another swing.

He fired a bullet that embedded itself into the gaurds skin, who fell back on his heels as blood pattered onto the floor. Nightmare was advancing on Bruce with a hatchet in each hand, swinging them left and right smoothly.

"Here Brucie, Brucie, Brucie..." he grinned, apparently unaware of Jim and Harvey's presence. "I just wanna give ya a lil' present."

The was a bang. It echoed through the building, a heavy thud following. Nightmare was on the ground, blood seeping around his clothes as the hatchets slipped from his hands. A door creaked closed above them, a shadow passing behind it.

"Full of hot air," Harvey sighed. "Just like the rest of 'em." he gestured to the two other men.

"I heard it from in here...!" said a voice from down the corridor. Footsteps were fast approaching.

"We can't hold them off..." Bruce said. "There's too many of them!"

Harvey yelled over the noise cascading through the building. "We need a plan, Jim!"

"It's ok, I've got this..." They turned to stare at Bruce. "If you guys hold them back for as long as possible, I might just be able to cut Jerome off."

"Bruce, no." Jim shook his head. "It's too dangerous,"

"This is Gotham, not a day goes by where it isn't dangerous,"

"The kid's got a point."

"Not helping, Harvey..." Jim scowled. "This is ludicrous! He'll kill you with half the chance."

"No, he won't. I'm sure of it," Bruce's eyes darted to the door as the first wave of punks entered the room. "Jim, we don't have any time!"

He nodded. "Go, but be careful... you know what he's like."

"I will."

Bruce took the steps two at a time until he reached the second floor, the gunshots suddenly becoming white noise. He put his palm on the cold metal of the door knob.

He breathed in and out. "...Here goes nothing..."

The door opened, revealing a room with upturned tables and paint embedded into the carpet. Toilet roll was stuck to the ceiling with what appeared to be masking tape. At the centre of the room, was a sofa with the sponge ripped out of the cushions. Jerome was sprawled out along its length. His eyes were closed, but he was clearly awake; he was humming a rather cheerful tune.

"Jerome,"

Jerome's eyelids flicked open as he jumped up onto the floor. He smiled at Bruce, waltzing forward with his hands interlocked behind his back. Stopping at the nearest upright table in front of Bruce, he grinned, his yellow-stained teeth gleaming in the dull rays of sunlight.

"Heya, Brucie! It's good to see you, ya know. We haven't seen each other in _AGES_." Jerome gripped the underside of the table and pulled close to him, his breath blowing into Bruce's face. "I don't like to be away from my bwest fweind..."

Bruce scowled at his mockery. "I'm not your best friend, Jerome."

His green eyes danced mischievously. "Oh, of couse I'm not." he hit his hands against his sides and straightened his back. "My brother is. Jeremiah, that goody-two-shoes little brat... what difference does it make, Bruce?! We're identical twins!"

"He's not my best friend either," Bruce kept his head cool. It was no use snapping at him.

Before throwing his head back with laughter, Jerome gasped and put his hand on his chest. "Oh, that's not very nice is it, Brucie?" his mouth stretched into something resembling a straight line. "Hm... if it's not me, and it's not Miah... who is it?" he jumped up and down in realisation. "Oh, oh, oh...! Is it Selina? Ya know, the one Jeremiah shot?"

Bruce felt a stab of anger. He reached for his pistol, but then thought twice. He'd never win against Jerome.

He sucked in a breath. "Ah, still a little tender on that subject, are we?" Jerome fell backwards in a fit of giggles. "Ah-hoo-hoo-hoo... Brucie, you really are a serious kiddo. Don't you know? Laughter is the best medicine..."

Bruce crossed his arms, avoiding the weapon at all costs. After all, he wasn't here to kill him.

"Ehehehe," his hand slid into his jacket. "Still, you must still be a little delirious after the incident with Kean."

 _So he knows what happened..._

"You took a quite a blow to the head," Jerome's eyes widened. "Oh... I guess you're a serious delirious." he trailed a gloved hand over the back of his head. "Geez, I'm turning into Tetch..."

There was a flash of sliver as he brought a handgun up to Bruce's forehead. Jerome had an arm gripped around his throat.

"And that's enough chit-chat from me..." Jerome coughed. "Tell me, Bruce, why exactly did they send you up here alone?"

"Because I know you won't kill me."

He tilted his hand from side to side. "Hm, that's correct. But that doesn't mean I can't hurt you... really, really bad."


	6. Fury

CHAPTER 6

Fury

Bruce dragged himself away as Jerome sliced a scalpel towards him, the air cut by a fine edge. He seemed to smile at the boy, as if this was the best day of his life. The atmosphere was teetering on the brink of chaos as kicks, punches and fatal blows were handed out to each other like penny sweets. Bruce ducked, the blade skimming the top of his head narrowly. Jerome brought his arm back to his side and smiled in his usual slouched manner. He bared his teeth, the cracks appearing in the dull light.

"Well, well," Jerome chided, his voice like sandpaper. "Quite a pickle we've got ourselves into, isn't it, Bruce?"

Bruce was silent, his eyes narrowed and steady. He knew his attacker was unpredictable.

"What's wrong? Oh, yeah." He snapped his fingers, his green eyes trailing around the room. "I forgot about your seriousness problem. C'mon, pal! Learn to loosen up a little bit," Jerome swung forward, stabbing the scalpel into the tabel. Pieces of wood were splintered across the room as he lower his head, his pupils pinpricks against his skin. "Let's have some fun."

Bruce leapt to the right, avoiding Jerome's pounce forward. He pushed him against the wall, his hands tied around his throat.

"I'm not here to fight you, Jerome."

Jerome sighed, gasping for a breath. "Pity, I was itching for a first-round K.O."

"I'm here to make you a deal," Bruce struggled to keep him under control. Jerome was far older and stronger than he was. "So, what are you going to do? Are you going to listen to me?"

He let out a quiet giggle as the room fell silent. Noises could be heard from downstairs. "Now why would I do that?" There was no answer. "C'mon, Bruce, use your brain! I know you have one 'cause I know you ain't stupid." Bruce felt his warm breath against his face. "Ya know... you and I are a lot alike,"

Bruce didn't look convinced. "And how's that?"

"People don't appreciate the way we do things... they don't _get_ us." Jerome stared him in the eye, unblinking. "They think we're different because of the way we think and feel... ever since we were children the world casted us into a group far from the rest. I mean, sure. We were born into different social classes; you the self-righteous snob," he saw Bruce tence. "And me the lowly carnie. But you and I are the same, at least not physically but mentally. We're connected, and I know you and I... are destined to do this forever."

Bruce scowled as he produced an inward growl. He pushed Jerome closer to the wall in frustration. "You and I are two very different people, Jerome, and don't ever tell me or yourself other wise."

"Stop kidding yourself, Brucie." he laughed. "Your as crazy as I am,"

"No, I'm not. You're a psycho, Jerome,"

Jerome pushed forward as Bruce hit his head off the brick behind him. "It's all a matter of dignity, you're too self-conscious to show your madness. But... all it takes is one bad day, maybe you just haven't had yours yet." he shrugged. "And when you do, you'll be just like me. An outcast, an outcast without a care in the world."

The two men stared for a moment, Bruce staring into Jerome's pale green eyes. He wondered if somewhere hidden behind all of those scars was a normal person, with thoughts and cares. He watched him smile. No, Jerome was a killer that lacked conscience and mercy, and he was delving further into fantasy than any man had gone before.

Jerome's laughter began to increase in volume as Bruce winced. "I'm gonna send ya mad," he whispered into the boy's ear, grinning intently. "C'mon, let's release this psycho."

Bruce growled, growing tighter on Jerome's neck.

"Help me paint Gotham red, Brucie... we can do it together."

"Shut up, Jerome."

His eyes widened. "Not everyone can see the killer inside you, but I sure can... after all, it takes one to know one."

"There is no killer in me," Bruce held him to the wall tighter, tensing everytime a gunshot was heard from downstairs.

"Sure there is, we just have to find him,"

There was a crash from below, the floorboards quaking. Jerome raised and lowered his eyebrows. "Ooh, Jimmy and his sidekick are in a lot of trouble, aren't they? You want me to let you in on a little secret?" he paused. "They're gonna die... 'cause you're up here bickering with me instead of helping them. Wow, you're a great friend. Ya willing to risk the lives of two cops all for me... how touching. It's like that time you watched your parents get killed before your eyes,"

"How is it?"

"You let them die, like the coward you are."

Jerome watched the fury build in Bruce's eyes. He began to giggle, the grip on his throat getting tighter and tighter, yet he didn't seem to care. Bruce dragged him forward suddenly and pushed his body across the room with a blow to his torso. Jerome recoiled and rested a hand on the wall with a groan.

"Wooh," he breathed. "Didn't see that coming, I can say that."

Bruce pounced forward, gripping his arms and forcing him back.

"Where _do_ you get all that power?" Jerome asked.

"My hatred for you," he said bluntly as he dove a fist into his face.

"Man," Jerome clutched his nose as a trickle of blood ran into his filtrum and into his mouth. "I don't know what hurt more; the comment or the punch." he sniffed, wiping his face on the sleeve of his blazer. "But there's one thing for sure, I don't go down without a fight."

Jerome surged forward, delivering a windmill of hits all at once. A laugh produced itself from his throat as he threw his head back.

"Like I said before," Bruce held his arms in front of his face. "I'm not here to fight you, I'm here to make a deal."

Confusion took hold as Jerome ran round him and gripped his neck, pulling his head back forcefully. Cold metal touched his skin. "Oh, I don't want to hear it, Brucie. You're too boring and, anyway, I like fighting."

Bruce snapped. Something in his mind clicked and he lost control, swinging at Jerome with full force. The next few minutes were a blur, the only memory left in Bruce's mind a vague image of Jerome's face in a look of surprise. He didn't feel any pain, or any emotions. In fact, he felt free. Perhaps this is what Jerome had been talking about; maybe there was another side to him he had yet to discover. Maybe this was it.

As his eyes began to adjust again, Bruce was greeted by the taste of blood and copper. He felt the pain that was progressing through his body, but that didn't matter now. Jerome was slumped against the wall on the other side of the room, his eyelids drooped. Bruce struggled to his feet, using the table for support, and hobbled forward clumsily.

"You're finished," he wheezed. "You have no-one else to turn to."

"Ah, that's okay," Jerome spluttered, refusing to open his eyes. "I won anyway."

"Take a look at yourself, Jerome... face it, sometimes you just can't win." Bruce stumbled, locking his arm against the table so he wouldn't collapse.

"I made you lose control," he coughed, creaking open an eye. "So, in a way, I'm stronger than you ever were." Jerome let out a weak giggle, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth as he did so.

"I think it's time for you to leave," he ordered, aiming a finger at the door.

"Do you now? And what makes you think I'll be leaving so soon?"

There was an explosion from downstairs as the main entrance blew itself apart. Yells and gunshots echoed up the building.

Jerome struggled to his feet and wiped his mouth of his blood. "Ah, I see where you're coming from." he stared for a moment. "See ya round, Brucie. Maybe we'll be seeing each other sooner than you think."

And with that, the ginger bounded away, hobbling down the stairs. He walked into a battle between his own men and the GCPD. Blood was splattered up the walls, painting it red.

"Oh, heck." he backed up as a bullet sailed past his ear. Gordon was ahead of him, loading his pistol. "You."

"Valeska," Jim said bluntly, aiming his gun. "You need to leave, take your men and leave. Find another place to settle down."

Jerome snorted. "You don't have the guts to kill me, Jimbo. Remember that time on the roof?" he waited for the cop to recall the events. "Yeah, that one. The one where I was hanging from that flagpole and you put out your hand to help me. Just like the goodie-two-shoes you are... you'd never kill me."

"No," Jim made sure his gun was correctly loaded. His hands were shaking violently. "You're right, Jerome. I wouldn't kill you, and it's not because I'm a coward, it's because I'd rather see you behind bars than six feet of earth."

There was an explosion. A shockwave exploaded from the end of the pistol, scarring the air and piercing it with a chunk of metal. The bullet crashed into Jerome's shoulder, his body pushed back a few feet by the mere presence of the object. Blood leaked into his blazer and he let out a cry.

"Agh!" Jerome toppled, struggling to stay on his feet. He grabbed the attention of a few of his men. "Fall back! Fall back!"

The message spread itself round the room and the punks began to pile out of the doors in chaos. Jerome jumped forward toward Jim, resting one hand on his shoulder and one hand on his middle. Jim let out a muffled yelp.

"This is for you, Jimbo." he patted his arm in a friendly manner. "After all, sharing _is_ caring."

Jim looked down to see a heavy blade penetrating his torso before everything went black.


	7. Night Fight

CHAPTER 7

Night Fight

Jim's eyes opened slowly to the sight of peeling paint on the ceiling. He breathed in and flexed at the pain that surged through his torso, letting out a dull sigh. His eyelids drooped.

"Captain Gordon," a soft feminine voice called from above him. He was greeted by a nurse with a blue rag wrapped around the lower half of her face. "Thank God you're alright, we were starting to get worried."

Jim lifted his arms and pulled his body into a sitting position. He had be laid on an old hospital bed. He looked around briefly, seeing that he was still located in the GCPD building. Other officers were resting in beds around him.

"Jim," Harvey trundled over, Bruce and a fellow officer by his side.

"Harvey, where is he?" Jim said as he was pushed back down after trying to get up.

"Where's who?" he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Jerome, where did he go?"

Bruce stood over his bed. "He fled just after you passed out. We tried to have some men track him down, but we were unsuccessful."

"So, Jerome could be out there anywhere? Great, now we're back to square one."

Harvey shook his head. "At least he's not here."

"He has a point," Bruce said. "What's more, he's out on the streets injured, which means he won't last very long."

"With Gotham's lack of doctors and medication," the nurse interjected. "He won't even last the night. But the shortage isn't a good thing," she gestured to the beds. "We can't treat the wounded."

Jim bit his lip. "We need to contact someone outside of the city and ask for help,"

"We already have," she said. "They said they'd arrive here by helicopter in a few hours. They're half a day late."

"To be honest, Jim," Harvey wagged a finger. "I don't think they're gonna come. Gotham's a gonner, and boy do they know it."

"Luckily, there is one place we can pick up supplies," Bruce added. "Gotham General Hospital. All the necessary goods are kept there."

"Doesn't that make it an easy target?" Jim's heart sank. "And an easy target means easy pickings for criminals," his mouth suddenly creased into a perfect line. "I know where Jerome's headed."

Meanwhile, somewhere in the centre of the city, a small fleet of vehicles were pacing though the streets. Men had rifles and machine guns aimed out of the windows, their sights kept in the shadows in case something decided to attack. After all, this was Oswald Cobblepot's square of territory. Unfortunately, to get to Gotham General, it had to be crossed.

The driver of the first truck shot a glance in the directon of Jerome, who sat in the passenger seat with his body pressed against the window.

"You okay there, Jerome?"

Jerome clutched his shoulder and scowled. "Keep driving, will ya?!"

The driver's head snapped back to the road. "Yessir,"

He scowled and turned to look out of the window. His eyes followed the broken streetlights as they began to flicker into life, casting a dull orange huge against the grey buildings. The clouds had begun to give off small wisps of sleet, throwing down swirls into the dirty streets. Jerome rested his forehead against the window as warm blood leaked into his hand. Pain stabbed through his right shoulder.

There was a buzz against the dashboard as a radio crackled into life.

" _Jerome?_ " it said fuzzily. " _Come in, Jerome._ "

He reached over for it and pressed his finger against the button on the top.

"What do you want?" he rasped through gritted teeth.

" _Squad four just spotted a figure on the rooftops,_ "

"What kind of figure?" Jerome sniffed. "Actually, that doesn't matter, kill it anyway."

" _But sir, what if-_ "

"I said kill it," he hissed. "And what I say goes, ya got that?"

There was a mutter. " _Uh, yessir_."

Jerome looked up at the rooftops, keeping his mind sharp for any shapes that moved amongst the darkness. Something flashed passed a chimney. He waved a hand at the driver bossily.

"Slow, slow down... now." he whispered.

The van slowed, the tyres creaking across the damp tarmac. Other vehicles further behind stopped to take the long way around, to discover what was following them.

"Where are you...?" Jerome narrowed his eyes, catching a flash of grey-brown flesh. " _What_ are you?"

The radio suddenly jumped in his hand, spitting out a few jumbled up words.

" _Jerome-_ " something was interfering with the signal, Jerome shrugged. It was to be expected. " _So_... _wh-t_... _what the heck? What the...h-ck...oh... Oh my God._ " it cut out.

Jerome stabbed at the button violently. "Hello?" he called, continuing to stare from the window. "Bah,"

"Uh, Jerome," the driver hesitated, tapping the steering wheel. "We got company."

He slammed a foot against the accelerator as Jerome's head spun around. They were greeted by a toothy snarl as the van overturned. Something large had hit the side, leaving four large imprints in the metal. The van screeched across the road as the windscreen shattered, spewing glass across the two men and slicing their skin like paper as the vehicle halted. Jerome opened and closed his eyes in half-offended arrogance, unclipping his seat belt as he did so.

His body fell to the side, landing on the radio. "That hurt," he whispered, looking up. The driver was hanging from his seat in a lifeless fashion. "So much for that guy. We really need a guy riding shotgun."

Jerome watched a car swerve around the van and jack-knife into a building. Flames erupted from the room. He let out a 'hmph' and placed a hand through the broken windscreen and onto the bonnet. Something jumped up from the side of the van: sharp teeth with jagged slits jutting out at every possible angle as warm breath steamed the windows.

Jerome let out a yell and pushed himself back against the leather seats. Yellow eyes glared at him as the creature closed its mouth, reaching in and gripping his leg. There was a short struggle as Jerome was dragged out forcefully and thrown against the ground.

Between the gasps for air, he giggled nervously. He studied its scaly texture. "You got a real bad case of dry skin there, buddy."

It snarled.

"What are you supposed to be?" Jerome breathed, moving his wrist in a circle. He suddenly stopped laughing. His mouth creased into a frown and shook his head, the concrete behind him scratching at the back of his neck. "--When I thought Gotham couldn't get any weirder."

The creature picked him up by the shoulders and forced him onto his feet. Jerome let out a squeak as the bullet in his arm scraped against the bone. He glared into the cloudy eyes a few feet above him and held out a hand. "The name's Jerome... Jerome Valeska."

"I know 'oo you are," it said deeply, hunching its back.

"And you are...?"

"Waylon Jones," Waylon replied bluntly, clicking his overgrown nails together.

"Is it alright if I call you Croc?" Jerome asked. "S'just you remind me a little of a crocodile, that's all."

Waylon gripped his throat and pushed him against the overturned van. "Don't call me tha, I'm not 'ere to discuss names, Valeska."

"Then why are you here?"

He snarled. "Bruce Wayne, some nut wants 'im. He told me to spread the word."

Jerome sighed and pushed him away, Waylon backing off reluctantly. Two vehicles of Jerome's followers pulled up beside them, a few jumping from the back and aiming weapons at Waylon. He gestured a hand and they lowered the firearms. "Everybody wants that kid six foot in the ground, except me, of course. Bruce is just too much fun."

"There's a reward fer bringing him back, dead or alive." Waylon glanced around at the punks. "Don't fink it matters."

"What kind of reward?"

"Cash."

"And how do you know this guy is telling the truth?" Jerome walked around in a circle. "Gotham's full of lying, sneaking, double-crossing little freaks. Always has been, always will be. And anyway, do you even know who this guy is?"

Waylon breathed deeply and looked up to the sky for a moment, snow falling onto his scaled skin and melting upon impact. "No... but I know what 'e looked like."

Jerome raised an eyebrow.

"Tall, dark-haired... wore a hat and glasses wiv' a purple suit. Little creepy, if I'm honest."

Jerome lowered his head and growled. "Jeremiah... I knew you'd resurface at some point." he smiled. "Took ya time."

Waylon pushed his face up against Jerome's and growled through bared teeth. "Spread the word, Valeska. We need everyone out after Wayne." he leaped up, his claws digging into the brickwork of a building. Before Jerome could blink, he was gone.

Jerome was silent for a moment before he shrugged. "Right, change of plan! We're gonna pay a visit to my brother."

"But, Sir," a punk stepped forward. "Your arm." he gestured to the crusty blood on his shoulder.

"Meh," Jerome lurched forward and gripped a knife from the punk's jacket pocket. "There's ways round these things." he threw his blazer onto the floor and grinned as he pierced the skin on his shoulder. There was a 'clink' as the blade hit metal. Jerome pulled it out along with a bullet. "There, all done. Doc. J does it again." he handed the knife back to the punk. "C'mon, let's get out of here."


	8. Message

CHAPTER 8

Message

Waylon watched Jerome's punks leave the street in their vehicles, staring into the distance with yellow eyes. He moved closer to the chimney beside him and curled to the concrete. The voices of people could be heard in the room below, but he couldn't tell what they were saying. The moon and stars were hidden by clouds of smog and the streetlights sparked and flickered out, the darkness was merely added to Gotham's distress. Fortunately for Waylon, Hugo Strange's alterations to his body allowed him to see in low light. His pupils dilated, allowing the endless voids at the centre of his eyes to devour the cloudy irises around them.

He sighed, a swirl of steam twisting from the gaps between his teeth as a cold gust of wind escaped through the clouds. Waylon began to close his eyes as the snow from the clouds above hit his skin and melted upon impact, causing a pool of water to form between the scales. The cold was relief to him, he'd never been a fan of the whole 'living life on the edge' thing. Most of the time, Waylon just wanted peace.

A few minutes later, he drifted off into a gentle slumber. The snowfall had quickened and a sheet of white covered his body, deeming him almost invisible against the ice around him. Down at street level a van pulled up near the curb, and from it several men were produced. They scouted out the area with their guns at the ready, muttering amongst themselves as they investigated the overturned vehicle at the side of the road. Waylon lifted an eyelid at the sound of a falling shard of metal and shifted himself into a sitting position. He scooted over the edge of the roof and gripped the chimney for support, here he could eavesdrop on their conversation without being noticed.

One man held a knuckle-duster between his fingers and another held a shotgun: it was clear they meant business. Their voices were faint, but Waylon could just about make out what was being said.

"Jerk," the first man said. "Whoever did this is a jerk. I can't believe this... one chore after the next! Ain't no break round here."

"Better get used to it, pal. Penguin needs this territory carved up and ridden of all enemy gangs, he doesn't take it all that well if you slack off." the second man rested a hand against the overturned van.

"I can see that, after what happened to Smith... don't think we'll be seeing him too soon."

He shook his head. "Nah, he was an idiot. The guy deserved it!" with a quick movement of his hand, he moved away the sheet that was covering the side of the van. He stood back to view a symbol: a face, appearing to be drawn in blood, with large eyes and a mouth made up of a series of words mocking laughter. The man's lips tightened into a line. "Jerome Valeska," he punched the van. "Damn it!"

"That's not good," the first man muttered.

"No, it ain't... we better tell the boss we got trouble." he tucked his gun away and walked over to his van. The window rolled down and he began to talk to someone inside.

Waylon leaned closer, narrowing his pupils. He couldn't quite make out who it was, but he had a good idea...

The door flung open, the man flinging his arms in the air in surprise. Oswald Cobblepot emerged from the passenger seat, wadling closer to the man. He looked up and scowled. "What?!"

The man pointed to the vehicle tucked against the building as Oswald's eyes settled on the tag.

"How can this be...?" he said quietly, pulling his eyelids closer together in frustration. With a growl, he spun around and pinned the man to his van with the umbrella he held in his hand. "I told you to have every block on lock down," Oswald hissed. "How did he manage to get in?!"

"I-I don't know, Sir."

"Repeat to me your orders," Oswald's face was pinched in anger as he spat each word out like they were poison.

"K-keep all streets under lock and k-key... n-one is aloud in or out, any enemies will be shot upon sighting."

"Good," he smiled, lowering his umbrella gently. The man ahead of him relaxed. In the space of a second, Oswald's expression changed from happy to one of contempt. He raised his umbrella up so the point was facing the man's forhead. There was a click and a splatter of blood. He crumpled. The Penguin stood back to admire his work, blowing the smoke from his umbrella and loading a handful of lead capsules into the end as he walked. His right eye twitched. "Idiot."

As Oswald walked to the van, he muttered curses under his breath. One of his men approached him, but before he could speak a shower of metal came down upon him from the tip of the umbrella.

Waylon blew out a ring of steam and looked down on the short man below him, watching him hobble around the van curiously. He was intrigued by Penguin, how could such a tiny person bottle up so much anger?

"What's in this thing?" Oswald asked.

Three more of his men approached him "We don't know, Si-"

"Well get it open and find out!" he snapped firing a few more bullets into the ground. The men jogged toward the scene and opened the back with a crowbar. Oswald spun on his heels and was greeted by a large, scaly object.

"Oswald Cobblepot," Waylon said, glaring down at the man. "I 'aven't see you in ages."

Oswald leapt back and screamed, alerting some of his men. " **GET THIS THING AWAY FROM ME...!** "

Waylon sighed and gripped his collar, lifting him into the air. Oswald squeaked as he did so, dropping his umbrella. "Tha's not very nice, is it?" Waylon said. "I don't wanna hurt you."

Oswald squirmed and looked at the ground a meter below him. "Let me go, you freak!"

"Freak?" he dropped him, letting his body fall to the ground with a thud. He looked at him in confusion. "I thought birds could fly."

"For your information," Oswald snapped, crawling away and clutching his leg in pain. "Not all birds can fly, for instance, take the-"

"Penguin. I like penguins."

He hesitated. "Uh-uh, yes... good, good."

Waylon gripped him before he could crawl out of range and dangled him upside down. Armed men circled around him, gun loaded and pointed in Waylon's direction. He smiled and opened his mouth, raising the man higher.

Oswald yelled and began to claw at the large hand tied around his waist. His eyes opened wider at the sight of three rows of sharp, yellow teeth below him. "Oh, God... no, no, no! Please no!" Waylon smiled, letting another ten teeth into view.

Someone fired. A bullet smashed between his scales and he dropped Oswald with a mighty roar. He swung his tail round, toppling three of the men around him like dominoes. Surging forward, Wayon brought the two men left over together and threw them across the road. None of them got up. He turned to Oswald.

"Who are you and what do you want!? Why are you here!?" Oswald thundered, pushing himself away.

"My name is Waylon Jones," he hissed. "But that's Killer Croc to you, weirdo." Waylon circled him for a moment. "And I have a message to deliver to ya. Bruce Wayne, some guy wants 'im, dead or alive. Pass it on, Penguin." he bounded away into the night, leaving Oswald in the snow.

The following morning was bleak and grey. Fortunately, the snow had stopped at some point the night before, but the ground was icy and rain clouds were gathering in the distance.

Bruce woke up in a torn armchair next to Jim. He was asleep. Bruce sighed and got up slowly, trying not to wake him or any of the injured people around him. A nurse was cleaning up in the room ahead, she could be seen through a window into the main room. He began to make his way over to her, stepping around the worn bandages and charded glass on the floor.

Bruce opened the door and caught the attention of the nurse.

"Ah, Mr Wayne," she said lightly, shaking his hand. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"How is he?" Bruce looked through the window expectantly at Jim.

"At the moment he seems to be holding up okay, but Captain Gordon still needs around-the-clock treatment. His wounds are quite serious." the nurse sighed. "Unfortunately, we have many patients already here, and supplies are already running low... we may have to move him and the others to Gotham General."

"Gotham General?" Bruce stuttered, shaking his head. "No, no, no, no... you don't understand. You can't do that,"

She tilted her head. "Why not?"

"It's too dangerous, with the criminals rising the first place they'll be headed is the hospital. I was told most of the city's remaining supplies are kept there... and it's not just us that are desperate."

"I understand, Mr Wayne, but they cannot stay here. It's too unhygienic, the risk of infection is too great."

"Well, then... if we're going to move them," Bruce said, arching his shoulders. "We're gonna have to move them pretty soon if we're going to miss any trouble on the way." he looked out of the window. "With the rain setting in, there's no way Firefly will be able to attack as we cross through her territory."

The nurse picked up a radio and began to speak into it. "Bruce, please wait outside whilst I negotiate with the others."

He nodded and walked out silently as she began a conversation with the person on the other line. As he entered the main room, he noticed Jim sitting up on his bed and decided to walk over.

"You should be resting," Bruce said, standing at the foot of his bed.

Jim sighed. "I know, but I can't know Jerome is out there. And as for Jeremiah..." he looked at the boy before glancing away. "Well, enough said. I can't rest knowing there are people in Gotham who are in danger... there are children out there, all alone."

"There's nothing you can do about that now, Captain Gordon." Bruce replied. "The best you can do is wait until you get better, the GCPD will help as many people as they can. I'll keep looking for Jeremiah."

There was a paused as the nurse approached. "It is settled," she said, clapping her hands gently. "The patients shall be moved to Gotham General as soon as it begins to rain, in the meantime, we need the GCPD to clear a path on the streets for the transportation to pass through."

Jim began to lift himself out of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"And as for you, James, you will travel along side the patients." she crossed her arms.

"You're going to need all the help you can get,"

"That is why your men will assist us on the journey,"

Jim spoke before they walked away. "Bruce, tell Harvey I'm leaving him in charge."

Bruce nodded and walked into the next room with the nurse. Police officers were milling from corner to corner, loading guns and packing necessities. They appeared to have gotten the message from the nurse.

He walked to the table ahead of him and took a shining pistol from the top right and double checked he still had the knife he had taken from the cafeteria earlier. _Best to be over prepared than underprepared,_ he thought, _no one knows what trouble we could run into._ Bruce took another handful of bullets and stuffed them into his pockets.

"Bruce," called a voice behind him. It was Harvey. "How ya holding up?"

Bruce shrugged. "Okay, I guess. It's kinda difficult to take in, to be honest. I worried about Selina."

"You'll get to see her at Gotham General, and I'm sure she's fine." Harvey replied, trying to comfort the boy. "She's been through worse."

"You're right, she has." he sniffed and looked out of the window, seeing a few drops of rain hit the glass.

"I heard you went to see Jim, did he say anything?"

"He put you in charge," Bruce watched the rain speed up. "C'mon, we'd better get going."

Harvey's brow creased as he pointed a finger to himself. He nodded slowly before following him outside along the the other officers. Loading his gun, he watched a school bus pull up on the road. He jumped onto the platform and waited.

"Listen up," Harvey grabbed everyone's attention, twenty pairs of eyes settling on him. "We've got a lot on our plate right now, and I can understand the pressure you're under right now. But I know we can pull through," a few cops at the back nodded at each other and exchanged glances. "Our priority is the safety of this bus, if we run into trouble fire at will."

Fifteen minutes later, around thirty patients had been loaded onto the bus. The officers were travelling by car; the only ones left were rusted fords that had been dug out from the yard of the building. Bruce was in the third car from the end, his head through the sunroof and holding the pistol he had picked up beforehand.

There was a 'clunk' as the bus started up.


	9. “Penguin Land”

CHAPTER 9

"Penguin Land"

Harvey hugged closer to the bus as it and the cars trundled through the streets. The shells of burnt out vehicles lay against the walls of buildings both left and right. The sky had darkened, rain falling faster and pattering against the roof of the bus, the yellow paint peeling off in large flakes and floating to the ground. Harvey kept his eyes in the shadows as they passed over the word ' _fire_ ' burnt into the tarmac.

"Just passed into Firefly's territory, Harvey," the bus driver muttered, changing gear. "I don't like to be the voice of doom but I thought I might forewarn you on that."

"Step on it." Harvey muttered, double checking his pistol was loaded.

"Yessir," he brought his foot down on the accelerator and the bus surged forward.

Harvey looked back at the following cars, glancing across at Bruce for a moment as the kid gripped the sunroof with one hand. Their eyes only crossed for a matter of seconds, but it was enough for Harvey to decipher the boy's emotions. He frowned. It was obvious Bruce was afraid by the twitching expression on his face, yet there seemed to be a hidden emotion underneath the layers of fear and hatred that lingered sheepishly amongst lost thoughts. He couldn't be sure what it was.

The bus took a corner slowly, the wheels crushing the fresh snow on the tarmac. Although Gotham had always been a vile place, it was strange for Harvey to witness its current half-dead half-alive state. He had, over the years, become accustomed to the city's loud streets and rather mundane townsfolk. Now, Gotham had fallen silent. It was unusual, and quite creepy, according to Harvey's new depiction. It had never been quiet in Gotham, _ever_.

The bus suddenly entered a sheet of dull smoke. It twisted into the windows and winded down the isle, past the injured people and folded wheelchairs. There was a buzz from Harvey's radio.

" _Buckle up, boys,_ " it crackled. " _We're in for a real treat here._ "

Harvey coughed, eyeing the shadows intently. The cars behind disappeared into the smoke as they passed through gates of fire. Up above, buildings were flaming, illuminating the visable patches of sky. Something slithered in the darkness, dragging what appeared to be a large sack with it. A single pair of eyes followed the coach from a hiding spot between a dumpster and a pile of rubbish before disappearing into an alley. The bus began to pick up speed as people emerged from their hiding places and began to close in around it. Harvey aimed his weapon at one but didn't fire. They didn't appear to be hostile, at least for the time being.

He glanced to the right at the bus driver, whose hands gripped the steering wheel stiffly, before casting a look down the back of the bus. Jim was nowhere to be seen.

There was a sudden glare and Harvey swung his head round to be greeted by a great wall of fire that reached into the road with bright red tendrils. The flames reached up from the road, twisting upwards with the smoke and disappearing into the clouds of smog. The light reflected in Harvey's eyes as he glared up.

"Holy Jesus," he muttered, fumbling clumsily with the bar ahead of him for balance.

The bus continued down the centre of the road, the driver ignoring the bead of sweat that had developed from the top of his temple and was now making its way down his cheekbone. He couldn't decide if it was the scorching heat blaring from the windows or pure fear.

Flames licked the sides of the bus, attempting to curl in through the windows and engulf the people inside. The vehicle emerged from the other side of the wall and into an entirely new world; or so appeared to be. Ash was falling from above and settling on thre ground, coating cars along with the fine flakes of snow that fell with the rain. Harvey looked back - wondering why the fire hadn't been extinguished by the water droplets descending from the sky. He came to the conclusion that it was set alight with gasoline.

That wasn't a good sign. If the fire could burn in the rain, the GCPD and the patients were in grave danger.

Up ahead was a line of warehouses, placed perfectly side by side in the rising smoke. A factory was fitted in the centre, towering over every other building in the area. Its chimneys puffed out great plumes of smoke into the rain clouds, the sky almost black around it.

Harvey pulled the doors closed as the smoke began to curl inside, causing some of the patients to cough and splutter. He turned to the driver. "Ya might wanna pick up the speed, Pal. No pressure."

The driver nodded and gripped the streering wheel tighter. "Yeah, no pressure."

The bus surged forward and reached the factory that loomed up ahead as its headlights search the darkening surroundings. Dust particles caught in the beams and hung silently before being dragged down the side of the bus and fired higher into the air. The speck travelled lower to the ground before being whipped around by the passing cars. It passed Bruce in a flash of dull orange. He rubbed his right eye with his knuckle and blinked rapidly.

Bruce steadied his pistol and looked around anxiously, trying not to cast a glance at the factory. He wondered what it was making — after all, smoke _was_ ascending from the chimneys. He tried not to think about it and instead made a mental note, if he was going to delve deeper into the problem now wasn't the time.

The bus turned left down a narrow road with terraced houses on either side. It was rather intimidating: the walls towering above and stretching further into the rain clouds. Bruce quivered and breathed out slowly. For the first time in around ten minutes someone spoke.

"Y'all right there, Sonny?" the driver asked. Bruce turned around to the man at the wheel and scanned over his wrinkling skin and soft blue eyes. The few strands of grey hair on the back of his head waved, almost in greeting to Bruce, as the wind travelling through the open windows tugged gently at them. The man was either in his late sixties or early seventies. "You seem a little nervous."

"Yeah, you could say that." Bruce answered emotionlessly, casting his attention back on the road ahead.

The man made a brief 'hm' and looked back at the road. "I'm sure we all are... but listen, you should try to keep your nerves in tip-top condition. If ya don't, you'll regret it by the time you're my age!" he gave a weak laugh and ended it with a smile.

Bruce sighed and tried to smile back as he sat back in the passenger seat, folding his arms.

The man took his hand off the gearstick and held it out to him. "The name's Tom, by the way. Tom Holland."

Bruce shook it. "Bruce Wayne. It's a pleasure to meet you, I just wish the circumstances were a little better."

Tom nodded and put his eyes back on the road as the rest of the cars turned another corner. "Same here, kiddo, but what can I say? It's better now than never."

"You're right," he forced a smile, even though his mind was on other things at the time. "So, Tom... how come I've never seen you before?"

"Wouldn't have expected you to, Bruce. I'm nothing but a lowly office worker at Gotham's Police Department." Tom shook his head. "Back in the good old days I was on the front line - fighting for everyone's freedom." he breathed out and his head hung slightly. "I miss those days."

There was a pause before Tom spoke again.

"I taught him, you know."

"Who?"

"James," Tom pointed a finger ahead of him where the bus could be seen turning at another junction. "He was a great kid; always following the rules."

"You taught Jim Gordon?"

"It wasn't official or anything, I was just his mentor now and then. I taught him all the greatest moves. We used to live in the same town, and when I left for Gotham, I thought I'd never see him again. How wrong can you be?" he grinned, his face creasing. "Just look at him now, he's the smartest cop in the history of the GCPD. I guess he learnt it from the best."

Bruce managed to break into a genuine smile. For once, he felt at ease. "So what was he like back then, when he first started training?"

"Heh, he was like a newborn calf trying to find his feet." Tom reminisced, looking up at the rain for a moment.

"I can't believe you there," he laughed.

"It's true, Bruce. James was about as helpless as all the other trainees at the time. The first time he fired a gun he nearly burst into tears, the poor lad didn't sleep for a week. Then again, he was ten, so who could blame him?" he stopped. "Looking at him now, I find it hard to believe he's the same person. Everyday I see him leading every cop in Gotham City out onto the streets to fight crime and bring help to those in need... but I still see that lost little boy clinging onto a blue bear. I don't think I'll ever see him differently."

Before he could continue, Bruce's radio burst into life.

" _Hey, Bruce, how ya holding up back there?_ " Harvey crackled from the other line.

"Alright, I guess." Bruce casted a glance at Tom. "I made a new friend."

" _That's good... I thought you might wanna know we just officially exited Firefly's territory, so we're out of danger for the time being. But there's only a thin boarder between here and Penguin's humble abode, so keep on the look out._ "

"Roger, that, Harvey."

" _Over and out._ "

Bruce tucked away his radio and continued to look out of the window.

"Penguin, eh?" Tom muttered. "A strange bloke. Couldn't say I've ever met him and I couldn't say I ever want to, so I'll just have to judge him by what I hear. I often wonder if he's as crazy as he seems."

"You could say that."

"I mean, he's gotta be some level of nuts to go by 'The Penguin'. Personally, I think 'Oswald' suits him better." he said. "Couldn't say the same for 'Cobblepot', though. I wonder where he got that name from."

The radio burst into life. " _We're in Penguin-Land, Bruce. Better keep a good eye out for trouble, I heard he's got a tighter belt of security._ "

Looking around, Penguin's territory looked almost the same as every other part of Gotham at that moment: covered in fallen buildings and dark patches from where fires had been set. Only here it was a little quieter... _much_ quieter. Bruce stared around and creased his eyebrows, the skin under his eyes tightening.

The next corner they took was equally as deserted. There wasn't a single car, bird or person in sight. The following three turns were empty.

Bruce frowned. "What is going on around here...?"

A few moments later there was a sharp bang followed by a series of shouts and screams. The sound of bullets against metal and tyres screeching across tarmac startled some of the younger drivers ahead, causing them to surge forward. A sudden uproar accompanied a crackle of the radio as Bruce hit the button.

"Harvey! What's going on?!" he yelled. "I heard guns from behind, what's happening?"

Tom hit the accelerator as two cars sped ahead of him.

" _There's been some kind of surprise ambush,_ " Harvey replied. " _Looks like Penguin's more prepared than we are._ _Bruce, don't stop to attack unless they get too close to the bus, we need to get out of here with spare bullets!_ "

"I hear you," Bruce threw the radio into the dashboard and drew his weapon whilest Tom got the car closer to the bus.

"You got this, kid." he nodded to Bruce.

Several enemy vehicles appeared in the mirrors, all of them accompanied with heavily armed guards and equiped with weapons of all sorts.

The group drew closer together as it sped through the streets, turning left, then right, then left again until they reached the main road. Bruce looked forward and caught sight of something large lying on the left hand side of the road, bricks from the building beside it sprinkled across the surface. A van.

Smoke was curling from the van's engine and escaping into the sky as the car drove past. Time seemed to stop as Bruce's eyes locked on the bright red colour scheme. He managed to read the tag on the side...

 _Jerome Valeska._

He suddenly darted to the dashboard and fumbled with the radio.

"Harvey! Harvey, did you see that?!"

" _Sure did,_ _for a second then I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me._ "

"Jerome was here! Which means he-"

" _-Was heading to Gotham General._ " Harvey paused before replying, stuttering his words. " _We need to lose these guys, fast._ "

"Yeah, we do." Bruce shook his head and leaned out of the window, firing a few bullets at the rusty Volvo that was tailing them. It swerved to the right and crashed into another enemy.

An explosion followed that shook the surrounding buildings and sent dust flying into the air. Bruce coughed and reeled his body back into the car to avoid a shower of bullets aimed at him and the GCPD officers ahead.

Tom kept his eyes on the road, dodging a few potholes. "Valeska, eh?" he said suddenly, dragging the steering wheel to the left. "Another charming fellow I'd prefer not to meet."

A bullet slammed into the body of the car, causing a dent to appear the the inside. Bruce winded down his window and fired a few more bullets behind them as they narrowly missed a chunk of metal in the centre of the road.

The radio crackled again and Harvey's voice boomed from the other side. " _We ain't got long till we're out of Penguin's territory! Keep it up, Bruce, they shouldn't tail us once we're out"_

The bus skidded round a tight bend, the back wheel ever so slightly lifting off the ground. Inside, Harvey was trying desperately to calm the passengers inside.

"Alright, shut the Hell up!" he yelled, losing his patience as several people bombarded him with questions at the same time. Harvey hit his pistol on a metal bar to quieten them. "Sit your asses back on them seats!" He gestured with his hand abruptly.

The people took their places on the seats again and fell silent. A few moments later, a woman, whose arm was wrapped around a crying child, spoke.

"What is going on out there, detective?" her voice was soft and quiet, but Harvey could see she was losing her patience.

Harvey opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a man.

"Are you trying to kill us, Bullock?!" he boomed. "This was a bad idea, and you knew it! You just wanna get rid of us, don't you?!"

Another man waved his fist in the air as they skidded around another corner. "Yeah!"

The bus suddenly erupted into angry shouts and sobs of young children. Harvey tried to shout over them but it was clear he'd lost control of the situation.

"That's enough!" a shout came from the back of the bus. Jim Gordon stood in the isle: one hand clutching his middle and the other holding a seat for balance.

"Jim, sit the Hell back down." Harvey wagged his finger.

Ignoring him, Jim raised his voice. "Listen, I know you're all scared." he said as something hit the side of the bus. A shower of bullets behind followed. "But we have to keep it together. This is Gotham! We've been through worse."


	10. Underpass

CHAPTER 10

Underpass

The bus skidded around another bend, the back wheels screeching across the tarmac. Several cars followed closely behind, and several other cars were trailing behind them.

Bruce pusher his hand through the gap in the window and fired a couple of shots at the car tailing then. He reloaded.

Tom gave him a worried glance before dragging the steering wheel sharply to the right to avoid a pile of bricks in the middle of the road. His face scrunched up as the car span for a moment, tossing Bruce sideways.

"Sorry, kiddo!" He said, desperately trying to right the vehicle again.

Bruce swung his head back to look out of the back window. There was a clunk and the car surged forward as another car rammed into the back.

"Right," Tom scowled. "I've had just about enough of this. If these bastards want a fight, they got one." He threw Bruce a glance. "Hold on, kid."

Bruce's eyes darted around. "What are you doing?"

Tom hit the accelerator and ragged the steering wheel to the right, causing the car to be thrown into an alleyway. The automobile following them to use the brakes abruptly. Another car crashed into it from behind, then another, causing a pile up that blocked half the road.

The walls raced past the car so closely, Bruce could have sworn he heard them scraping against the sides. It wasn't a moment later when the wind mirrors were ripped off as a metal bin was crushed against the wall.

"Tom," Bruce said with fear in his voice, gripping the sides of the chair with his nails. The leather began to tear. "Are you sure you know where you're going?!"

"No idea," he replied, keeping his eyes ahead. "But, hey... it's better than being stuck back there."

"But what about the bus?"

"We'll take the backstreets to avoid Penguin's men. Then we can meet 'em somewhere nearer the hospital and run the remaining cars off the road."

"You sure it'll work? What if the bus is surrounded? What if it doesn't get there?"

"Bruce, you seem like a smart kid, but you ask way too many questions." Tom said as a washing line was torn down. "Learn to go with the flow."

There was silence as the car emerged onto the main road, a few piles of boxes and bin bags pushed out with it. They didn't stop to gather their thoughts, but swung sharply to the left and continued down the middle of the road.

" _Bruce!_ " Bruce leapt as his radio burst into life. " _Bruce! Please tell me you're there._ "

He fumbled with it clumsily before pressing a button on the side. "Harvey! I'm fine, I'm here. We took the backstreets to avoid getting hit."

" _Thank God, Jim'd kill me if anything had have happened to you._ "

There was a crackle as the device began to cut out.

"Listen, I'm about to go out of range. We'll meet up with you later and try to get them off the bus' tail."

He pushed the radio into his pocket.

"Right-oh!" Tom said, looking up at the street signs. "Last lap of the streets. There should be a road to the left that leads directly to the bus."

A few seconds past before Harvey spoke from the radio again. " _There's an overturned truck blocking the shortcut to Gotham General, we'll have to use the underpass._ "

"Roger that, Harvey." Bruce replied.

"Change of plan," Tom whispered, driving past the turn-off and straight on. "We should reach the underpass in a minute."

 _Overturned truck_ , Bruce thought, _I wonder if it's one of Jerome's._

The underpass appeared ahead of them.

"There she is,"

The car drove into it quickly, avoid the remaining abandoned or burnt-out cars. Bruce's ears popped as they descended, letting out a brief yawn. Rolling down his window, he listened for the sound of vehicle engines.

There was nothing.

He rolled it back up again and looked at Tom, but didn't say anything. His expression explained it for him.

"They said they'd be here," Bruce whispered, his eyebrows creasing.

"No idea, sonny." He spoke after a few seconds.

Bruce tried his radio, but there was no answer. "Harvey, are you there?" He paused before trying again. "Harvey...?"

He hoped it was just something to do with the signal.


	11. White Light

CHAPTER 11

White Light

Jonathan Crane opened his eyes suddenly. He was greeted by a low grey ceiling. The paint was peeling and a flake floated down, kissing his cheek gently. Jonathan brushed it off and sat up, pressing himself against the wall. There was a sharp pain that coursed through his middle and his doubled over, releasing a quiet groan.

Looking around, he tossed his head side to side to examine his surroundings, only to find that he was in some form of 5-by-4 cell. He was curled up on a bed — a flimsy metal frame with a worn mattress thrown on top. There was a crunchy feather pillow, that had been ripped at some point in the past, lying on the floor next to it. Jonathan noticed a restraint on the side of the bed and stroked it shakily with his forefinger. Three others were sewn to each corner.

He pulled himself forward and dangled his bare feet off the side, his toes brushing the cold, stone slabs below. Jonathan took in the rest of his surroundings: a small bedside table, a tiny barred window at the back of the cell, a wooden spoon and paper plate.

Lifting himself up slowly, he placed his feet on the floor and tried his best to keep his balance as he stood up. His hand never removed itself from his middle.

Jonathan took two steps and reached the back of the cell. He peered out of the window, letting his fingertips grip the iron bars. A gentle breeze brushed past his face and he suddenly realised he wasn't wearing his Scarecrow costume; instead, he looked down to find a thin, cloth shirt and a ripped pair of loose trousers draped over his exterior.

He ran a hand across his bare face, the dull light from outside making his grey eyes glow white.

Jonathan suddenly realised he was starving, and wondered how long he had been out for. He then recalled his last memory: making up a new batch of chemicals for Jerome. He thought about it some more, before remembering that he had been shot in the stomache at point-blank range. Jonathan pulled open his shirt gently and ran his fingers over several fresh stitches. Whoever had fixed him up had done a good job.

And then he wondered, _where am I...?_

After a moment of staring through the window at the clouds, Jonathan padded over to the door: a heavy, iron slab with a grate at the bottom. He leaned down and sat on his knees, one hand still clutching his middle still, and lowered his head so that his left cheek was pressed against the ground. The cold leached through his face slowly. He tried to make sense of the darkness beyond the door. As Jonathan's eyes adjusted, shapes began to appear. There seemed to be a table and a mass of tools of which he couldn't make out. He turned his head to the left. Judging by the mass of blackness it was a hallway. He turned his head to the right. The corridor seemed to continue.

Much to his surprise, the lights outside Jonathan's cell switched on abruptly. He rolled away from the grate and rubbed his eyes, looking up at the flickering light fixture above him. It lit up suddenly with a brilliant white light. Jonathan cringed, his nose scrunching as his eyes snapped closed tightly. Several seconds later, he made the decision to open them again. Jonathan allowed his pupils to adjust to the new level of brightness before blinking rapidly.

"What the hell...?" He muttered, feeling his way across the floor. Jonathan placed the palm of his hand against the cold door and listened, quietening his breathing.

The outside of the cell was silent — unnervingly silent. He frowned, but kept his position on the floor.

 _Tap._

Jonathan flinched slightly as something sounded out down the corridor. It wasn't the loudest of noises but, considering how silent it already was, it seemed louder.

 _Tap._

There it was again. Jonathan's brows furrowed as he leaned closer to the grate. He pressed his face onto the floor.

 _Tap-tap._

He hoped it was a leaking tap as he looked down the white corridor.

 _Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap._

The noise grew louder and closer. It reminded him of someone walking... that was it. It was the gentle sound of footsteps padding across a tiled floor.

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he should call out. The footsteps were closer now, making him progressively nervous.

"H-hello...?" He said, trying his best to keep a fair amount of confidence in his voice. "Who's there? Show yourself."

The tapping stopped.

Jonathan's eyes widened, his heartbeat picking up an unsteady pace.

"Hello?"

A shining leather shoe placed itself against the other side of the grate delicately. Jonathan leapt back with a yelp, his eyes studying it frantically.

"Mr Jonathan Crane?" Chimed a deep male voice from the other side. "...is it?"

"Y-yes..." he stuttered, coughing a little before he spoke again. "Who are you? What am I doing here?"

"All your questions shall be answered," he continued. "For now, follow my commands."

Jonathan was unsure what to say. "Wait, n-now hold up one second," he edged closer to the grate and raised his voice out of a whisper. "Why should I do anything you say? I woke up in some cell, with no memory of how I got here or who you are. I have a right to—"

"The boss will not be impressed if you resist,"

He raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"The boss will not be impressed if you resist,"

"This is insane." Jonathan muttered. "Alright, w-whatever." He gulped down a lump in his throat.

The man on the other side continued. "Will you cooperate?"

"I-I guess so,"

"Excellent."

It was a good twenty seconds before he spoke again. "Now, listen to my instructions carefully. I will not repeat them a second time." There was a brief pause. "Five seconds after I have finished, this door will open. Go down the left corridor. Take a right, then a left, and a left again.

"Continue down this corridor. At the end of it, there will be a door. The door has a lock." A rusted chain slid threw the bars of the grate. On the chain was a key. "This key will open that door. Lock it behind you. From there, take a left. You will have reached your destination. There will be someone there to greet you."

Jonathan mumbled in a confused fashion before wrapping his fingers around the grate, trying desperately to see the man's face. "Wait! Stop! Why do I have to do this on my own? Why can't you just take me...?"

There was no answer. The leather shoe removed itself from beside the grate.

"Hey!" Jonathan rattled the grate. "I'm talking to you!"

There was a beep and a metallic thud as the door swung open, dragging Jonathan out into the corridor. He looked around frantically.

"Hey!" He called. "Where are you?! Come back!"


	12. FinalUpdate

**UPDATE**

Just so I don't leave you guys and gals on a cliffhanger, this story will be rewritten and posted on Wattpad @tealdragon1273.

If you have any questions, please feel free to follow my Instagram @tealdragon1273 for updates and more Gotham related stuff.

Peace.


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